Reparation
by Siaynoqsbride
Summary: Sequel to 'Forever.' Anakin is now back to the Light Side through the grace of Padme, and sets off to find his children... but nothing is as simple as it seems. Angst, Romance, AU, Update 3.12.06
1. Chapter 1

_A/N- So, here we go again! First of all, I would like to thank everyone who commented on the last chapter of 'Forever;' the feedback was quite nice. It gave me a warm, happy glow for several days afterwards... And for those of you who wandered in unawares, this story is the sequel to the one in my bio called 'Forever.' And with that, let us begin! _

**Part One**

**Chapter One**

Anakin stared across the stars at Tatooine. They had come out of hyperspace at a place far enough away from the Imperial station that orbited the planet to be safe. Even from the great distance at which he saw his home world, he still only think of it as a barren, infertile wasteland overrun by mobsters. The muscles in his cheek tightened beneath the mask. That was where his mother was buried, where he had spent nine years of his life too many.

But the thought of what lay on that planet was enough to shake off his melancholic musings. He stretched; the journey had been long.

It was on that planet that he would truly regain his freedom. He closed his eyes, clinging to the sweetness of that thought. He would be able to breathe by himself again, to actually kiss his wife, would be able to touch his son on the forehead, would be able to see his daughter smile with his _own_ eyes… The thoughts were trembling dreams in his mind, which had yet to realize the light of day. But they would, he promised himself, and they would all be united as one, the Skywalker family. His family.

The miracle of his forgiveness, everything that had passed before… it grew no less sweet with time. Indeed, it seemed even more of a new, incredible concept as he distanced himself from the persona of Vader, becoming more and more Anakin Skywalker. She had given him a second chance, even though he had not deserved one; she was truly his saving angel, the only light there was.

His thoughts returned to the planet before him. It seemed so small from Anakin's ship, so tender and fragile, nothing more then another object in space, like the stars that surrounded him. It seemed infinitely small in comparison to the vastness that lay just outside of it, the engulfing darkness tempered by light from the stars.

Yet it was on Tatooine, one of the most remote planets in the galaxy, that everything hung. It was there that Anakin himself had been born, that he and his mother had lived together if, not in peace, then in simplicity together. It was there that he could finally cast off the suit that imprisoned him, allowing him to echo the transformation in his soul. It was there that Obi-Wan was exiled…

His thoughts turned to his former Master. He closed his eyes in a manifestation of weary anticipation. Parts of him did not want to face Obi-Wan, did not want to have to face condemnation in his mentor's eyes. The other part of him knew that there would be condemnation everywhere that even Padmé could not save him from.

_I hate you! _

_... You were my brother, Anakin. I loved you. _

Images and words flashed before Anakin's eyes from long ago. He shifted, restless. Could Obi-Wan forgive him, look past his faults to the man he had been and still was? A slightly bitter smile graced his lips. He would certainly not blame his former master if Obi-Wan could not forgive. Anakin had not been willing to forgive _himself_, at first. He longed for the spark of approval in Obi-Wan's eye, the warm camaraderie between them that had always been there. That, and so much more, had been wiped away by a red lightsaber.

But her love would be enough for him, and that of their children. His thoughts turned to them again, and a genuine smile lit up his face. Obi-Wan would tell Padmé the location of their children; he owed her that much. Then he would be able to look upon them, and become utterly complete.

A small face peered up at him out of the darkness, sandy blond hair falling over strangely calm yet rebellious blue eyes. The face was tanned by the desert suns, hardened after only ten years as a moisture farmer. Yet there was still a spark to it, still a sharp flame of rebelliousness that even the day-to-day life of living on Tatooine could not conquer. It was the face of his son; the face of Luke.

Images that he had only now begun to uncover had come to him in the strength of their joining in the Force, and thoughts as well. His son looked to the stars as Anakin had; the same unquenchable thirst was in both of them, and Anakin recognized it. The boy was a Skywalker.

Another face joined that of his son. Brown eyes flickering with intelligence and compassion met his, commanding his eyes, his very spirit. The eyes belonged to a solemn, contemplative and youthful face. Her light-brown hair was tied up in two braids that looped over her head, and her face seemed to hold wisdom beyond her years. Leia, he thought, and was immediately reminded of the presence he had felt; she was stoic and driven, and once she dedicated her attention to a task, no one would stop her. She was strong and already a leader; truly her mother's daughter.

He felt Padmé come to stand beside him, and smiled as her presence met his, the connection between them igniting. She smiled at him, sending him a mental caress because she could not touch him physically. She then yawned and stretched, finding a way to conveniently land herself in his arm. Her warmth against him was comforting, and he felt content with her at his side.

"How long ago did we come out of hyperspace?"

"Not long."

She nuzzled sleepily against his armor, and he smiled, returning her love with his own in a way far more intimate then anything else they had ever shared, their connection brilliant with love.

"Do you think it is ironic," he asked, "That the fleet I set up to orbit the planet is still there, and that they may pose a threat to us?"

She did not laugh; her lips only thinned into a quiet line. Anakin sighed, knowing that his attempt at jest had been too early, too soon after he had come back. They were growing closer every day, hurts coming mended and wounds being undone, but there was still a gap between them, a chasm due to what he had done.

Suddenly, a light entered her eyes, a small mischievous smirk flew to her lips. Anakin could feel the life in her, could feel the simple joy of living in every fiber of her being. It spoke to him of growth and renewal and cleansing; she was his salvation, his redemption, everything that he needed. She caught his gaze with her own in a way only she could do, and grinned in a way that made him feel that she was years younger, with the cavalier innocence and energy of youth.

"I have a plan," she said, her eyes dancing.

------

Rehis stood at rapt attention on the bridge of the command ship that orbited Tatooine. His eyes searched the stars nervously, darting from side to side to side. It had been a somewhat unsettling day for him, and he was full of nervousness.

The Emperor had contacted him, which was in itself a strange, unusual event. Rehis did not like unusual events; they complicated things. The supreme ruler of the galaxy speaking to him on a private holo had been reason enough for fear; a feeling of eerie coldness had crept up his spine and lodged itself at the base of his neck, a feeling he had not been able to shake.

But the words that had been spoken to him were even more unsettling. They had startled him with their implications, the subtle hints that were hidden in them.

_Lord Vader is a traitor and has betrayed the Empire. You are now in command of the ship, and will continue to search all ships leaving and entering the planet. Be thorough, Commander. _

Lord Vader has betrayed the Empire, he thought. He closed his eyes, repeating the words over in his head. Lord Vader has betrayed the Empire. Such a thing was more then unsettling; the words Empire and Vader were always somehow connected, always had been in Rehis' memory. The thought that the Right Hand, the bane of the Jedi, that the mystical, strange, almost inhuman monster could betray the Emperor, could defect...

Rehis swallowed. Even more strange and frightening was that the Emperor had told him not to give out this information... to anyone. He was alone in this terrifying revelation, and he was finding the solitude of power quite frightening. Rehis had never desired power; he had entered the military to please his demanding mother, to allow his father to feel pride in his son.

The stars did not twinkle with their usual benevolence, the warmth Rehis had always found in them. They seemed far, distant and cold, frightening even. Rehis closed his eyes and then opened them, finding the day, even though it had just started, to be quite draining.

There, at the edge of his vision, was a small object. He thought for a second that it might be an illusion, brought on by lack of sleep. But no; indeed, it was a ship, coming to conduct its unsavory business, whatever that might have been, on this small Hutt-infested wasteland of a planet.

Rehis signaled to his men to get into position for receiving another ship. It had become a routine for them, and they shifted into their places to welcome the vessel into the station.

------

Rehis was the first one to see the woman coming down out of her ship, and it was quite a sight. They had been forced to employ a tractor beam to convince her to cooperate, and she had still fought it. He was expecting some of the smuggling riffraff that usually visited the planet; he got nothing of the kind.

Her face was imperious and arrogant, from her flashing, dangerous eyes to the tilt of her defiant chin. There were a few wrinkles gathered and spread out along her face, but they only heightened and added to her beauty. Her long, curling hair flowed freely out from under a hood of a heavy material, and she wore robes that moved with her every footfall, curling around her.

But far more intimidating was her presence. She seemed to exude power and confidence, every step precise, every movement carefully planned out, every look deliberate and intentional... It was quite disconcerting, to say the least.

"What is the meaning of this?" She asked the question with a pert Naboo accent and an impatient air, that of someone who knows her time is being wasted.

Rehis cleared his throat; he was still commander of this station, and he held power over her, whomever she might have been.

"Every ship entering and leaving the planet of Tatooine is liable to be searched and the cargo seized, under the direct orders of the Emperor."

This did not dissuade or deflate her sense of self-importance. Instead, she drew herself up even higher.

"Do you know who I am?" She hissed, eyes snatching onto his. They were bright and angry, and they captured and held his in a way that he could not shake himself from. Rehis found in himself an urge to just let them go, to allow a slip just one time... It would take far too much effort to process her through right now...

He blinked, shaking his head. The thoughts were foolish; he knew what happened to officers that disobeyed orders, and these ones were given to him by the Emperor himself.

"It does not matter," he said in a slow, clear, steady voice. "If you are a loyal citizen, then it should not matter." He saw something burn deep in her eyes; he thought it was a flicker of hate or defiance. As soon as he saw it, however, it was gone, and he troubled himself with it no more. His crews were about to go in and search the ship; this would not be that much of a trouble after all.

He turned away, and was stopped by the feeling of an hand on his arm. He looked towards her, exasperated, and was struck by an expression in her eye that might have been pity. Thoughts began to flow through his head, memories he thought he had suppressed long ago...

_Pain, flowing everywhere, dark shame coloring his cheeks... Father yelling, could smell the drink on his breath... Mother, shaking her head and doing nothing... _

Her eyes pleaded with him, and he heard a voice whispering to him in the darkness of his mind that told him not to fear, that begged him not to go inside the ship...

She mouthed the word 'please' to him, her eyes searching his. There was none of the arrogance that he had seen in them before, but sincere desperation. Rehis swallowed, eyes closing as more memories entered his mind, going deeper and deeper into the darkness of his childhood...

"Enough," he whispered, eyes snapping open. The stormtroopers paused at the tightly sealed door to the ship, pausing for a command from their superior. She let go of him then, pulling her hood further over her face, shrouding it in darkness.

He cleared his throat, trying to find some semblance of command, trying to reassemble himself after what had just happened. He took in a deep, steadying breath.

"We will let her go," he said, his voice hoarse as he tried to repair the mental disarray he had been put into. He felt confused, like there was a fog in his mind, one that he could not see through, and the only way was to comply, to allow her to leave...

His men slowly backed away, looking from one to another in confusion, not understanding what their commander wanted of them, not understanding the sudden break from procedure. But all Rehis could feel was the fog, and their confused expressions washed over him.

Only after she left, after her starship was a fading dot traveling towards Tatooine... only then did he realize what he had done, realized what had happened. There was panic in him, panic that settled deep within him and refused to leave. But they were already gone, too far out of his grasp. A sigh shook him as he convinced himself that it was simply one ship, that it would not matter at all in the grand scheme of things.

------

Padmé stalked up to the bridge of the ship, distaste forming an acrid taste in her mouth. She knew why Rehis had let them go, knew why there had hardly been any resistance, why she had to abandon her plan...

Anakin stood in the room they had been using as their quarters. There was no tank full of oxygen that he could breathe in here; the ship was too small to accommodate it. He was not allowed even a temporary respite from the suit. Padmé, however, did not manage to feel any sympathy at that particular moment towards him.

Her eyes burned at him, and fury gathered itself in her heart.

"Anakin," she said, a harsh accusation, throwing off her hood.

He did not move from the position he was at, remaining standing impassively, and she was reminded of him as Vader. Even the memories of that distant, darkened past did not throw off her resolve.

"You did that," she whispered, voice trembling with anger. "You used the Dark Side to confuse him, to change his mind."

Then he stirred.

"I will do whatever is necessary to get to my children," he intoned in a voice that bordered on threatening. "He was in the way."

A chill was sent up Padmé's spine at the words, but she shook it off, her lips compressing into a solid line.

"You forswore everything of your old life when you came back to me, Anakin," she said, reminding him of his past, of everything that had passed. "You can't just use the Dark Side whenever you feel like it, _love_." The endearment was bitter and sarcastic, and she herself recoiled from the anger in it.

"There could have been problems; I did not want the Emperor alerted to our presence."

Padmé looked him intently in the eyes, allowing her frustration to subside, serenity taking its place. She had to be patient and gentle with him now, as an example.

"Anakin," she said, her voice down to a gentle lull. She felt his eyes dart to the side of her, avoiding her. His presence was closed off from her, a shield between them.

"Anakin," she said again, and this time, his eyes met hers, and she could feel their connection blaze and quake with tension.

"Love, you cannot simply go back on all you have said to me, all you have pledged. We cannot forsake everything for the sake of our children; we will be betraying them, instead of helping them. I had a plan that we could have stuck to, Love."

She saw a deep sigh wrack his body, and his eyes flew downward again, this time in a sign of acquiescence and respect, and he opened to her again, and she joined with him in a gentle sigh of relief.

When he spoke, it was with both flat bluntness and hesitancy.

"I know I shouldn't have done, that, Love. I just... I have a bad feeling about this, somehow." Emotions leaped between them, and she could feel a dark foreboding around them, slithering everywhere, indefinite but omnipresent. Fear came over her, and she did not know why. Her eyes fluttered closed, and when she opened them, the feeling had passed.

"It'll be alright," she murmured, taking his hand in hers, closing her eyes and giving him comfort and assurance as he returned the favor.

"It'll be alright."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N- Many thanks to all who replied to the last chapter! Love you all! Sorry that I took so long to update, I really am. Life has been crazy. _

**Chapter Two**

Tatooine was vast, deserts seeming to sweep on for dune after dune, endless and yet somehow subdued. Anakin remembered this place, remembered all of it. He remembered his mother, the days spent with her in Watto's junk shop. He remembered seeing Padmé for the first time, remembered every detail on her face, the premature somberness that her eyes held.

They had parked the ship on the outskirts of the city, so it would not be seen. They wanted to avoid everyone and everything they could. Fortunately, Sh'aya was far from any kind of civilization, living as a hermit, away from anything that could distract her from her healing. They would have to walk on foot there Otherwise, they would have to go into town to rent a speeder, risk being detected.. There was no doubt in Anakin's mind that the Emperor had now learned of their escape, and every Imperial eye would be searching for Padmé.

They would go to see the healer first. His breath rasped out, coinciding with the soft noises of abrasion against his feet that the sand made. He had told Padmé that he could not go to his former master; not with the suit on, not like this. She had smiled graciously, understanding. A small grin lit up Anakin's face as he thought of the future; he would see Obi-Wan, and then finally be able to meet his son and daughter.

The desert suns burned down on them like two incensed gods of the sky. The thought of being complete was the only thing that kept his feet plodding along the sand; he had forgotten the heat and discomfort of this place.

No, he corrected himself, not forgotten. He had repressed the memory because it had been too irritating. It was worse now, with the suit. Sand got everywhere; in-between the joints of his armor, rasping against his flesh, embedding itself in his cybernetic limbs...

But it was all worth it. He stole a glance of Padmé, who was standing beside him. She wore long, sweeping robes to keep the desert from burning her skin, and her face was barely visible. But there was just a flash of soft, rounded lips, just a hint of cream-colored skin. His fingers and hers were intertwined, flesh mingling with cybernetics. He longed to bring her hand to his and brush his lips along the smooth surface...

Padmé felt his desires, and smiled serenely beside him, and he gained more admiration for his wife.

"Soon, Love," she whispered quietly. He felt the same desire burning in her; she was alive with purpose and determination. He wondered if he had ever been worthy of her.

They continued along for several more minutes in silence; a comfortable, warm, loving silence. He could sense her energy and light, and they flowed into him, joining him to her. Tender possessiveness ensnared him, binding him with the sweetest restraints he ever knew.

"Anakin?" Padmé asked, and Anakin could sense exhaustion in her voice.

A small, mischievous smile crept up on the edges of his lips.

"Can we stop soon? I'm getting tired, Ani."

Without a word of warning, he calmly stooped down, gathering her into his arms, picking her up and carrying her, not loosing a step in stride.

Her first reaction was astonishment, Anakin could see. The hood had fallen away from her face, but he blocked the sun from her with his shadow.

The next thing she did was laugh. She threw her head back and laughed as he cradled her to him, still walking calmly along. Her voice was melodic to his ears; he had not realized how much he had missed her laughter. When she regained her breath, she squirmed a little to get into a position where she could look into the mask.

"What," she gasped, "Are you _doing_?"

He only smiled.

"I thought it would be fairly obvious; I'm carrying you."

"I can walk on my own two feet perfectly well."

He raised an eyebrow, forgetting for a moment that she could not see it.

"The point was that we were going to take a break," she pouted, lips turning down. "Tatooine is _hot_, Love."

He laughed at her then, not unkindly. His laughter came out strangely with the mask, but she understood, and, in a moment, she was laughing along with him. They laughed together with the exhilaration of youth that both had lost, with sheer joy. There was a feeling of bizarre, intense liberation that both of them shared, as if a great weight had been lifted from their shoulders.

They reveled in the freedom, both somehow knowing that it would not last.

------

He had set her down, eventually. The trip took longer then either of them had expected, and somewhere along the way, they had begun to wish they had brought a speeder. Padmé did not complain, but Anakin could tell that she was beginning to grow weary of the desert heat and the miles of sand that were all around them, muffling sound and reflecting glaring light into their eyes.

They had reached Sh'aya's hut soon after nightfall. Padmé had enjoyed the suns setting; they painted vibrant colors of garnet red and orange across the sky. Anakin, however, had not been so thrilled. When she had asked him why, he had simply replied 'Tuskens.' She remembered then that the animal-like creatures came out after dark, and that Anakin had slaughtered an entire tribe of them after his mother died in his arms...

Their pace increased a significant amount after that.

The small hovel in which the healer lived was fairly unremarkable. It was the same color of off-white as all the homes in Mos Eisley, and just as small. Padmé had to remind herself that it had been Qui-Gon that had instructed them to find this healer. She was beginning to doubt the wisdom of the Jedi Master in sending them here.

Anakin's fingers tightened on her own as he opened the small door, and she forced her own anxiety down as she soothed him through the Force.

The first thing her eyes glanced upon when she entered the house was the diminutive figure that stood, hunched over, a cloak drawn over its features. Her mind immediately took in the dimensions of the thing; small, humanoid, but not _human_. Her mind vaguely gathered the other details; there were herbs and what looked to be spices and concoctions _everywhere_, crammed in every spare shelf scattered around the room.

"Master Skywalker," a voice came, quiet and yet somehow powerful, "I have been expecting you."

The creature then looked up, and Padmé was tempted to gasp. If the thing belonged to any race, she had never seen its fellow creatures, and never wished to.

Long, red-purple scars lanced across its face, a face that was horribly misshapen. She could recognize those as lips, and yes... that was indeed a nose, but she could almost not realize it, as grotesque as its appearance was. She controlled her first reaction, which would have been a horrified gasp, and managed to only tighten her grip on Anakin's hand.

A snort came from Sh'aya, who had pulled herself up by this time, revealing that the healer was just as tall as Padmé.

"Good reactions, this one," the misshapen one said. "Most of them that come to see me end up running the other way."

Padmé could not control the sentence that came to the forefront of her mind, could not control her lips as she spoke.

"What... _happened_ to you?"

Sh'aya's eyes were a clear, pale green, and they looked at Padmé with sadness.

"The Empire is far more cruel then you can begin to imagine, little one."

Anakin made a strangled gasp beside her, and she sensed horror and shame deep within his presence.

Sh'aya regarded Anakin then, a small, faint, sad smile on her lips.

"He knows."

He turned away then, facing the wall of the hovel, looking at the door, and his shields had come up, blocking his presence from Padmé. She touched his arm softly, concerned, and he turned around.

"Say it," the healer whispered. "So she understands."

Anakin turned around to her then, and she regarded him with fear, not wanting to know what it was that had made him so horrified.

"The battle of H'lasha," he whispered, and she was able to feel the remorse behind the slow, steady, threatening intonations of Vader.

"A planet would not give way to the Empire," he continued, "And I was sent to force them to, _By any means necessary_." He took a breath, and Padmé could see that his hand was trembling.

"They would not give in to the Empire, and so..."

"Continue," Sh'aya said roughly, eyes burning. "Tell her what you did to my people."

"Genocide," Anakin said, and he was not trembling any more. "We killed all of them; there were not that many; a plague had wiped most of them out before we came. Their city was set afire, and we thought that none escaped."

Padmé felt horror at this, and it took all of her willpower to reach out to Anakin and touch him. Disgust tore at her, and she reminded herself that she had already forgiven him. As he bent to lean his head into her shoulder and she whispered soft comforts to him, Sh'aya looked on.

"How ironic," she breathed, "That the ones you thought you destroyed now have to be relied upon for healing."

Anakin turned to her, and Padmé could almost taste his tears.

"I will leave," he said immediately. "I will take nothing more from you; I cannot accept aid from you, not now."

Sh'aya smiled sadly, eyes seeming to hold a great weight.

"No, Skywalker. All my people are gone, and the responsibility does not lie on your shoulders alone. You are no longer the servant of the Empire, and it is my duty to bring down the force that has killed my people."

A torn, twisted hand came from the tattered robes, resting on Anakin's glove.

"A man came to see me," she whispered with hushed, fervent excitement. "A hermit, who spoke of many things that were strange and powerful. He was wise, and told me that a destroyer of worlds was to come, and that I was to heal him as best I could. I did not want to believe him, but I became convinced. I remembered the Jedi Knights of old, and it was clear to me that he was one, and so I will serve his purpose."

Padmé felt Anakin's self-loathing rip through him again, tearing old wounds agape within him.

But Sh'aya's eyes still shone with purpose, and she said again, louder, removing her hand from Anakin's arm, "I will heal you, Anakin Skywalker." Quieter, almost to herself, she said, "Perhaps then I can begin to heal myself as well."


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N- I'd like to apologize for not updating this, and I will be grateful for any of you that have had the patience to wait for me to update. I have, for the last four or five months, been dabbling in other fandoms in-between periods of extreme business and insanity. And I realized that, above all, I miss Star Wars. I miss the people, I miss the fandom, and I miss this story.Well, I'm back!My goal nowis to write at least an update a week. Thank all of you in advance who were patient enough to wait for me!Enjoy the cliffie at the end. ;)_

**Chapter Three**

Padmé sat next to Anakin, their hands pressed together, her eyes downcast, gazing at the form of her husband. The only thing that covered his unsuited form was a thick blanket, spread over his shoulders. It allowed her pale glimpses of flesh, and she knew the pride and degradation his injuries left him with. Sh'aya had assured them that soon, he would be breathing on his own. He was, in the space of that very moment, preparing himself, a light-blue breathing device attached to his throat, eyes closed impassively. He was in a deep meditation trance, so deep that she could not follow him into the Force, no matter how much her spirit longed for him.

She felt hopeful and lonely, all at the same time. Sh'aya's words had moved her, had stirred up feelings deep inside that she thought she would no longer have to face again. She had found revulsion and disgust buried within her at the healer's words, and she had, for a moment, not wanted to accept Anakin's touch. She had been torn away to another world, a world of cold antipathy with none of the redeeming grace she had come to know.

She looked down at his prone form, at the deeply scarred, pale head, at the calm, gentle breaths he was taking from his stomach. She loved him, that was certain, and she pitied him to a degree. But doubts were encroaching where there once had been only strength, and she felt suddenly lost, grasping for purpose.

As if he could feel her thoughts, his hand tightened upon hers, comforting her; supporting her. She drew her strength from the beacon that was Anakin's love, just as he pulled peace from the calming, gentling force that she recognized to be herself. She smiled, leaning her head against his for a second, hair brushing over skin. She tenderly pressed her lips to his forehead before withdrawing, and yet still staying with him. He had been broken, everything he had ever known destroyed, and she had rebuilt him from the ashes of a man whom the world had considered to be impenetrable.

He needed her. He may have needed her now more than ever, and not only that-- she needed him. She _loved _him. Padmé found this comforting, something that her mind could grasp upon and accept for truth. They had each other, and that was all they would ever need, especially if they were to survive the future. She could feel the coming storm, could taste the acrid bitterness of lighting threatening to unleash itself upon them. It frightened her; she was afraid for herself, and him, and for the two faces of her children emblazoned on her heart.

The healer entered the room, her cowled, covered form hobbling slowly along. Padmé felt pity wash over her for this woman, who had had everything taken everything from her. Still, the scarred healer held hope; in the Jedi, and in Anakin.

Sh'aya came up to Padmé, her head bend, once again covered by a thick hood. The healer procured a jar from inside her robes, and handed it to Padmé.

In her rasping voice, she whispered, "This shall cure him if he is indeed as pure as you attest. Spread it over his skin, feed it to him. Immerse him in its essence."

Padmé could feel something strange about the jar's contents. Something was different, something was _changed_...

She reached out with senses that were just beginning to grow, senses beyond eyes and ears and hands. What she found made her gasp aloud.

The jar was _alive_ in the Force. And it was not only alive, it seemed to be a _concentration _of life's energy. It was like the healer had taken the breath of life itself and distilled it into a jar. It pulsed with power, _desire_ to heal.

She looked at Sh'aya, amazed. The other woman gave a facial expression that could have been mistaken for a smile, looking away secretively.

"When your husband killed all of my people, we were merely beginning to learn. We were on the brink of revelations in many different kinds of healing, before he slaughtered us. It is very experimental, of course. It will only heal those who _wish _to be healed."

Pale green eyes met hers again, this time shining with intensity.

"Healed in _every _way."

The healer made her way out of the room, and Padmé closed her eyes as she realized what this was. Another test, for Anakin and perhaps herself.

She bent down again, reaching out to the brightness of the Force, using it with her love to stir her husband. She rested her head on his chest for a moment, able to hear the heartbeat regardless of the blankets between their flesh. Padmé could feel his state of readiness, of _wholeness_ with the Force. He was growing, expanding in directions that were far beyond her. He was becoming what he should have been, what he had been destined to be.

She murmured in his ear, "We will face this. We will be enough."

The only answer was a gentle touch from him, a mere breath on her cheek through the warmth that encompassed them. He was ready, she sensed, to face any trial that stood between him and his children.

Undoing the jar, she found that it looked quite ordinary; there were no distinguishing marks about it, nothing remarkable. It was simple green paste. It was only with her other senses that she could feel the power in it.

She began to smear it on his cheeks, his eyelids, all over his face. She managed to whisper, "Hope you don't look like Master Yoda by the time this is over."

There was no response, as she had expected none. Tending to him was enough for her, however, and she was content, at least for now. She would heal her husband... and then she would begin to start healing the galaxy. He and her children would stand with her, undoing the wrongs that had been done by the Empire.

A hand rose up from him, suddenly grasping her fingers with harsh, painful intensity. His eyes opened, staring into hers, and sharp panic was in them. He was a maelstrom of whirling emotions in the Force, and terrible premonitions and visions spilled into her head from him.

"Our son," his voice gasped. "We must find Obi-Wan."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

There was a planet that existed that had once been known as Coruscant. In its former days, it had been a place of extremes; from the corrupt rich to those in the lower levels wallowing in their own crapulence.

Now, it was different.

There was still corruption, but there was something in the minds of the people, the very atmosphere of the planet, that had not existed before. It seemed to ooze through the streets, seemed to trail off the planet in rivulets. It almost contained a presence, like a real, living person. It was just as powerful and influential.

It was fear. Complete, utter terror and the knowledge that resistance was futile. Coruscant had a new name; Imperial City.

The fear was concentrated, was most powerful towards the monument that loomed over the planet. It was a dark testament to the might of corruption, towards the strength of an Emperor and his Empire. Its sheer size was to be appreciated and frightened, but it was more than size that intimidated. Dark currents of terrible power seemed to breathe among it like a lover's caress, seemed to darken the air around it.

The tallest section of the black pyramid was the one that was most feared. It was the one that few dared to enter, that few dared to even speak of. There were quiet rumors among some of the more daring populace that there had been glimpses at night of terrible things. Blue lightning, some said, and screams. The hysteria was barely containable when one spoke of that terrible section of the Imperial Palace.

That was where the dark master of the Empire made his abode. That was where he retired to to entrench himself further in the shaded glories of his _art_.

Darth Sidious was sitting at the top of the Imperial Palace. Shadows wreathed the entire chamber, but he was at the center of them. All things proceeded from him. He was cast in terrifying glory, set upon a dark throne, the room seeming only to enhance his power. He sat, the most authoritative man in the galaxy, and contemplated.

The Emperor was not pleased.

Dark anger flowed in and out of him, around him, comforting him with its strength. Its presence was palpable, and he enjoyed the looks of terror those who were sent to his chambers wore. He bathed in their fear, fed off of it. It gave him focus and determination.

He had lost Darth Vader, had lost him to something that was so foreign as to be repulsive. His lip curled in contemptuous disdain as he thought of it. Love. He had underestimated Padmé Amidala, and his former apprentice's sad devotion to her. The thought of failure enraged him, but he had long since learned the benefit of keeping a tight leash upon his rage. It served him, and his anger was kept controlled, cooled.

The weaknesses remained in Vader, and his apprentice was still susceptible to fall. The flaws were perfectly illuminated for Sidious, like hairline fractures appearing along a priceless vase. Vader's strength was also his greatest weakness, and the thing that had restored him could be crucial in forcing him back to obedience.

Old habits die hard, thought the Emperor. Hate was intoxicating, as addictive as a drug. There was still a fulcrum in Anakin around which everything turned. If he could exploit that weakness once more...

That was one path. But there was another that lay before Sidious, one that could perhaps be just as appealing. Vader had not reached his full potential, due to the meddling of Obi-Wan Kenobi. But there were, perhaps, other ways, other powers that remained unused.

The children of the Chosen One were whole, unlike their pathetic father, and they could easily be manipulated. He had torn their names and presences from Amidala's mind, and now all that remained was to find them.

Luke. He now knew the boy's name. He had tasted the presence in the Force, had felt the similarities to Sidious's former apprentice. The same rashness, the same clinging attachment. The same weaknesses. Except where Vader was broken, in so many ways destroyed, his son was quite complete.

Human spirits were malleable, if only you knew which buttons to push. Understanding without empathy was the Emperor's strength. He comprehended fully the basic selfishness that was at the core of every soul, and he knew how to _push _at it. It was not as hard as all that, manipulation. And once he had planted the seeds of darkness, they were difficult to remove, like cutting off a limb. He had made rage to Lord Vader become just as crucial as the breathing equipment his apprentice wore.

He was more interested in the son than the daughter. Yes, he knew about her, could ponder upon her thoughtfully. Leia. She had Anakin's spirit, with her mother's diplomacy. But she was all too cultured, even yet. There was not the rash longing that her brother and father had, the rawness. She was also _weaker_, while the son would be stronger. Strong enough, perhaps, to kill his father.

He stroked his chair thoughtfully, possessively. It was a representation of dominance, and therefore his only lust. His vision was pure, untainted by anything because he only desired one thing: Power. It was not that he was addicted, merely that it was the only thing in his life to live for. He had lone since abandoned any other meaningless pursuits to capture this one element. He was fully a servant of the dark.

But now there was a hitch in his plans, an imperfection in the clarity that he had seen.

Padmé. She was a threat to him, tainting the blackness with her light. It was she that had torn Vader from his grasp, she that was now the _servant_ of the light. He could feel her brightness, could feel her pure communion with the Force, and it disgusted him. There were weaknesses in Vader, but she had gone beyond them, had redeemed a man who had murdered children. She was dangerous, too dangerous to survive.

Perhaps when he captured her he would make Lord Vader watch her die.

Insidious rumination cast its threads over the Emperor's mind as he sank deeper into yet darker thoughts. He was only interrupted by a blinking signal light that flashed on his throne, demanding entrance. He nodded irately, opening the doors to the Throne Room with a wave of his hand.

A servant knelt briefly. Sidious could feel the purity within him, the raw desire for power. It made a side of his mouth turn upwards in a hideously depraved grin.

"Rise," he said, chuckling.

The man obeyed, still not bold enough to look the Emperor in the face. Excitement thrummed through the sycophant, which meant that his news would be pleasing.

"Your majesty, we have found the Skywalker child, the male. He is living on Tatooine with Beru and Owen Lars, Anakin Skywalker's only relatives. Luke."


End file.
